


Bloody Necessities

by caplanbuckybarnes



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood and Violence, M/M, Marvel Universe, Vampire Bites
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 19:37:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18453236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caplanbuckybarnes/pseuds/caplanbuckybarnes
Summary: After months away from his city, Steve returns home to find that his long lost best friend has returned with a request in mind.





	Bloody Necessities

Flashing, bright, fluorescent lights blinded his sights as he strut into the club he owned. Taking off his sunglasses, he folded them upon his chest before placing them in his left  breast pocket. Music echoed off the walls as clubbers parted ways in order to allow him entrance.

 _Blessed_ , he thought. He knew his city was well protected while he was away on a six month ‘business’ trip. He’d been updated every night before midnight during his travels and he’d be damned if his clientele was faux pas.

His name was only brought up in whispers, though anyone ballsy enough to speak upon it never stayed alive after nightfall.

Rumours had begun that the man was a night walker. He’d hardly been seen in broad daylight and when he had been spotted, the man always seemed to be shrouded in shade brought on by an umbrella carried by the hand of one of his henchmen. Of course, the man had nearly porcelain skin, the only defect being his cleanly polished beard. But was that really a bad thing? Was it truly a crime for a man to want to pamper himself in this day and age?

Some claim that he’s an urban legend. Some even claim he’s that of royal blood. Nobody knows how he came into power. Nobody has the balls to ask either.

He’s brash and harsh and oozes respect. He won’t settle for less than what he feels he deserves. Either he gets respect or a body finds itself floating in some shallow riverbank in some shady part of town. It doesnt matter, people wind up missing on a daily basis, whats a few more hundred added onto the statistics?

He doesn’t care for the lowly life. He doesn’t care for the beggars that litter every corner on every block. He doesn’t care for the stale air that surrounds the city. Truthfully, the guttural doesn’t affect him in anyway. He hasn’t felt illness in centuries. He thrives in pure giddiness from it, if he’d be vile enough to say it aloud.

Of course, he hasn’t been exactly human since pyramids ruled the lands and the Americas were still purified and untouched by the white man.

It felt like a rebirth of sorts, really. Witnessing the battlegrounds and the warfare amoung humans. He drank the blood of the dead at nightfall, after all the soldiers had gone off to their bedspread; its how he found survival in the worst of ways.

Soon after the wars had all ended, he found himself drinking the blood of a threat to some old time gangster thug. The man had declared that the vampire earned his utmost respect. Nick Fury had died soon after under suspucious circumstances. But nobody dared point to the blonde haired mobster king that in fear of death themselves.

Steve climbed the ranks quickly in his early years of rule. Whether it was the fear he bestowed upon his clansmen or sheer and utter respect, he didn’t know nor did he entirely care. He had what he had wanted- humans at the sake of his mercy. He’d wanted it for far too long, ever since he’d been turned and his parents had succumbed to the ill fated blood sucker Erskine.

He hated humans. He hated them. He hated that his own mother had left him to die a slow death. He resented his birth father. He resented everything; everything, that is, except the blissful feeling knowing that he held a deep secret within himself. He’d gone this long without a single human being knowing his secret.

That is until one dark and rainy afternoon.

He’d returned home for an official meeting with a up and coming pianist. The man had exquisite talent, something that seemed hard to come by in this day and age with everything and every one relying on the technology to do their own bidding for them.

The man’s name had been Steve Rogers. He was fairly still young, hardly in his mid thirties—- at least in human years. He tended to blame his young features on excellent DNA. Nobody dared questioned him on it, however.

Wild creatures of the night still lurked in the shadows and plenty of them were still blood hungry and tempermental. It wasn’t a worry for too long in his eyes. He’d kill them all one by one.

As he finally strut to the back of the club where a thick vibrantly red curtain seperated the VIP section off from the rest of the club, a gaurdsmen gently leaned over to whisper three words into Steve’s ear.

The announcement caused a sudden blush to crease through his cheeks. Well, they would have been pickened had he had an actual bloodstream. Hesitantly, the gaurd parted the curtain a slither, just enough for Steve to pass through. And sure enough, there sat one of his dearest friends.

“Matthew.”


End file.
